The End Times: The King and The Headtaker
by SirDrakos
Summary: The Old World is dying, rotting at its very core, yet it had not made itself aware of such a revelation. However beneath the surface and the crust, such was apparent and as the world dies, bitter foes face each other one last time to end the enmities of the past.


**Author's Note: Hey everyone. Welcome to my first foray into fanfiction, this was spurned by a recent re-reading of End Times: Thanquol and the fact that Vermintide 2 shall be released soon. This a one-shot story that takes a look into the final confrontation between champions of the Dwarf and Skaven races. Anyhow, enough pontificating hope you all enjoy the fic, remember reviews are welcomed and let's begin!**

* * *

 _Bloody Thaggoraki,_ thought Ragnir Firestone as he bludgeoned another ratman with a swing of his great hammer, the tide of the filthy Skaven seemed as unending as the tunnels which the Dwarves of Karak Eight Peaks attempted to flee through, though were far more ferocious than the comforting dark of the underway.

With a vicious cry the Hammerer swung again, crunching a skull of another Skaven slave, the creature giving a pitiful shriek as brain matter and black blood erupted. Ragnir turned to face another only to gain the appetizing sight of watching the Skaven turn and run, cry of victory erupted from the throng of Dwarves.

 _What's there to be victorious about?_ Ragnir thought bitterly, they had lost both home and honor. The onslaught of the Greenskins and Skaven alike had chipped away at the resolution of the Dwarves of Karak Eight Peaks, Dwarves who swore to see that land cleansed of such filth only to fail. And now what hope was there, the Skaven chased them down even now with nothing left.

The Dwarves were running. That was the sad truth of it, unable to defend on two fronts the Dwarves committed the unthinkable and fled, unable to stand against the war-machines of the Skaven and the unthinking brutality of the Greenskins. Ragnir had spent his life crushing the skulls of the foul Grobi and Thaggoraki alike and to allow them to despoil and ruin the home of his ancestors weighted upon his very soul.

He pressed such bitterness down from his thoughts, now was not the time for despair, the Throng marched onward its intent to escape the tunnels of their Forefathers and into the arms of their kin. Either to the holds of Ironfist or Grudgebearer. _And together_ , Ragnir thought w _e will return and cleanse the filth from our lands!_ Spurned by his own thoughts of vengeance and victory Ragnir himself joined in the cries of victory.

'Enough yammering, we press forward!' Another voice, brimming with authority bellowed across the Throng. Silence fell as the speaker marched through the Throng which parted like a sea, Ragnir suck a breath in as even now with everything lost, his King still filled him with righteous hope. Belegar Ironhammer was resplendent as royalty should be, armored in the finest Gromil.

Ragnir had served as bodyguard to his King for many years against the Greenskins and Skaven and yet even now Belegar's splendor took his breath away. In his right hand Belegar clutched _The Ironhammer_ , a savage maul which Ragnir had seen his King crush the skulls of Orc warbosses, Dragons and Giants alike with an indifference atypical of his race.

While in his left he held _the Shield of Defiance_ which runes of protection burned bright, which had protected Belegar against the blows of Trolls, the foul magics and Skaven Wizards and even allowed him to escape from inside the maw of a Cave Squig.

The King's beard was the color of snow white which contrasted heavily against his cracked, weather beaten skin. Ragnir was always reminded of a mountain peaked with the winter's snow whenever his stared upon his King's face, and like a mountain Belegar appeared to stand resolute even now with his lands lost a second time.

'Ragnir with me,' Belegar grumbled, his voice akin to an avalanche, 'To the front of the throng.' Ragnir marched alongside his King, studying his body language, Belegar marched proud as expected as King but something about him, the air about him, seemed grim and desolate. Though given all he'd been through Ragnir wouldn't blame him.

Somehow, the Skaven have discovered the secret passageways created in time long past which now were used by the Throng as escape, now either through the use of their twisted machines or foul magics, in truth it didn't matter now. All that matter was survival of Throng to insure that these wrongs of the present could be righted in the future.

'The Skaven are toying with us,' said Belegar, his voice filled with disgust at the indignation of such treatment, 'They send their fodder to savage at us until we're are tired and easy prey.'

'They shall be greatly disappointed,' Ragnir responded clutching his own hammer tighter, if the Skaven thought Belegar and the last Dwarves of Karak Eight Peaks were easy prey, then the vermin shall be found wanting.

'That is beside the point,' Belegar rumbled his head bowed, his expression defeated, 'I failed, by the Ancestor Gods I failed Ragnir, I swore I'd see all the vermin that infested Karak Eight Peaks gone yet I failed, all the good Dwarves I fought beside gone'.

'Not all of them. Not yet,' Ragnir replied with a wry smile hoping to stem the tide of despair Belegar was falling into.

'No I suppose not,' Belegar responded a sad smile upon his face, this expression was quickly replaced by one of determination, 'We shall see the end of the tunnels and if any Skaven wish to stand against then good, by the Ancestor Gods I could do with the exercise!'

* * *

Queek Headtaker jerked his maul, _Dwarf-Gouger_ savagely breaking the neck of the last of the slaves that Queek, most shrewdly, sent to harry the stupid Dwarf-things.

'When Queek says no-no coming back until all Dwarf-things are dead-dead, Queek means it!' Queek sneered at the twitching corpse of the slave. In truth Queek didn't expect the slave-pack to accomplish anything as astounding as kill all the Dwarves, but still authority had to be enforced. Around him Skaven warriors jostled worriedly as when Queek's temper was hot, heads were most assuredly to roll.

His sneer turned to his clawpack of clanrats, and much to Queek's enjoyment he found them all looking away, some at the ceiling as if in pray to The Horned Rat, while others had their attention at the floor, as if their feet had suddenly become an enigma to their owners. Of course it was only natural that they should look away from his greatness, for was it not Queek who had now delivered Pillar-City into the paws of Clan Mors.

 _But there is still blood-work to be done_ Queek thought irritably, as in the fall of Karak Eight Peaks a small Throng of Dwarves led by their stupid Dwarf-King has managed to slip through Queek's claws. Luckily for Queek the Dwarves thought they could hide in their tunnels to escape, unaware of the machines that could sense such passages which Queek had been loaned by Clan Skyre. And though he loathed the tinker-rats as much as he did Grey Seers, he couldn't argue with the results.

Well Queek knew of Belegar's idiot plan, if he thought he could escape he was thoroughly mistaken. Queek felt a blood-lust rise within him, for too long has he denied himself proper fun and had simply sent slaves to thin the Dwarf ranks for his amusement. For too long have the Dwarves led him on a merry chase. But now the hunt bored Queek, and a bored Queek was a violent Queek.

The trophy rack upon Queek's back agreed with him. _This folly chase-hunt has gone on too long,_ Sleek Sharpwit, his former predecessor, murmured inside Queek's skull. _Rouse your kill-rats and finish this once and for all,_ agreed Ikit Slash, a rival Queek slew on his path to greatness.

Queek considered the judgement in his skull and found it to be good, for too long Belegar had denied Queek his dues and now it was time for them to settle their long lasting rivalry one last time. And this time Queek shall claim Belegar's head for all Skavenkind.

'Up-up dolts and dullards! Queek wants blood-blood!' Queek bellowed, his unnaturally deep voice echoing of the tunnel walls 'It's time we kill-kill, time for Clan Mors to reign triumphant!' Around Queek his clanrats shriek, infected by Queek blood-lust, slavering at the thought of victories to come the horde of Skaven rushed through the tunnels, eager to find Dwarves and to tear them limb from limb. To remind the Dwarves that the their control of the Under-Empire had been usurped and all now belonged only to the Children of the Horned Rat.

* * *

Belegar felt it in the earth, the sound of rushing claws and scampering feet. They were so close the passage way out of Karak Eight Peaks was just within their grasp, but now the Skaven have reached their patience end and decided to be done with this farce. In truth, this gladdened Belegar as the Skaven have skirted around skirmishes for too long, now was the time for a good and proper fight.

Belegar turned back and look to his Throng, at the warriors and soldiers who had home and hearth taken from them. Shame built up within the King as he looked to their faces, Dwarves who trusted his promises of Karak Eight Peaks restored to its glory only to be hunted like beasts. _Now stands my chance of absolution,_ thought Belegar with a heavy heart, fate had given him the opportunity for both vengeance and a chance to atone. Belegar turned to his Throng, proud of the Dwarves staring back at him and bellowed his final speech as King.

'You hear it too, don't you! The scampering of the Skaven, they've finally grown a spine to face us! I won't fault any of you for taking the path to safety, for I know that you'll return with vengeance in your heart, I know I've asked so much of you but I have only one final request to ask of you: That all who stay with me now, bleed as many Skaven as you can!' roared Belegar to the Throng.

Dwarves raised axes and hammers in salute as among his warriors they quickly decided who gained the honor of settle past grudges now and whom would gain the honor of settling the future grudges. He noted the look of panic of that flashed across Ragnir's face, _Ah, my old friend you didn't think I'd leave my lands a second time._

* * *

Ragnir watch his King's speech with panic as the realization of his actions set in, Belegar had no intention of leaving with his Throng only to insure that they got the the very precipice of safety before throwing himself into the Skaven's jaws. As the warriors assembled for the last struggle of Karak Eight Peaks, Ragnir approached his King.

'I'm staying with you, to the bitter end.' Ragnir stated staring at Belagar.

'No you are not Firestone, I have a special task in mind for you,' Belegar explained, his tone that of grim resolution 'You are to insure our people get to safety and to find themselves a true King.'

Ragnir stared in disbelief at his King's words, unable to think of an answer as Belegar took of his helmet and placed it, with a gentleness of craftsmen into Ragnir's hands.

'It's time Ragnir, I've failed in the eyes of the Ancestor Gods but no more running Ragnir. This is my final stand, my atonement, let the Skaven come for now my sins will know their absolution with blood and steel.' Belegar decreed, his eyes brimming with a mad determination. The sound of scampering had increased now as Ragnir and Belegar turned to see rat-like shadows dancing upon the far end of the tunnel.

'Now Firestone, off with you!' Belegar bellowed pushing Ragnir into the arms of those Dwarves last to leave, Ragnir still taken back only stumbled clumsily as the Dwarves who took him dragged him down the passageway. He heard only faintly the sound of explosives and hammers, as those last Dwarves used whatever means left to them to insure the passageway is left untenable to the Skaven.

 _You were a true King, our beacon against the dark_ , Ragnir thought solemnly, the answer to his King's declaration of his unworthiness. One Belegar would never hear.

* * *

Belegar roared into the face of a Stormvermin, headbutting the rat hard enough to shatter it's skull. As it fell, another scampered over it's corpse, a savage grin upon its face clearly thinking it would gain the glory of killing Belegar. A swing of _The Ironhammer_ removed any such notion from it's skull as well as removing it's head from it's neck.

Around him Belegar heard Dwarves die, though for every Dwarf slain the Skaven paid ten their number, and with every Skaven death this bought more chances of survival to those Dwarves that had fled. There was to many Skaven however, and too little Dwarves around him. Belegar heard the sound of conflict quell until the tunnel become nightmarishly calm, the realization that he was the last Dwarf left sinking in.

Belegar watched with curiosity as the Skaven started to make some form of semi-circle around him with his back pressed against the tunnel wall. No more Skaven seem to approach, nor had the desire to. At first, Belegar believed that they intended to bring him back to his fallen home alive, but then the revelation came as he saw Queek approach.

This was no attempt to capture him, this was a forming of an arena in which two champions of the Under-Earth would face each other one final time. The Headtaker was the largest Skaven Belegar had the displeasure of seeing, the black-furred brute was clad in crimson red armor and upon his back there was a trophy rack which from hung the parts of Orc, Skaven and Man warriors. In his filthy paws, the Warlord clutched his maul and blade both dripping with Dwarf blood.

'Belegar, I promised my warriors a show!' Queek said, his voice a predatory growl as oppose to that of the shrill shriek of his warriors. It unnerved Belegar every time he heard that growl, as it carried an undertone of madness and blood-thirst. 'I shall take-take you head, and with it rule-take Pillar-City for Clan Mors!' The vermin roared much to the approval of army of Skaven. So this is how his legacy would end, sport for Skaven _I won't die easy that much I swear,_ Belegar thought darkly, his gaze matching the self-assured stare of Queek.

'So you want my head now, do you Headtaker?' Belegar asked, raising his hammer and shield in preparation of the fight to come. 'Then know I won't give it up easily, you ugly rat! Come and earn this fine skull, If you can!'

With a roar of rage Queek lept into the fray, practically frothing at mouth, _Dwarf-Gouger_ came slicing through the air aimed at Belegar's neck. Belegar raised his shield to defend against the blow, shocked by the amount of force in such a blow.

 _For a wiry thing, there's a surprising amount of strength in him,_ Belegar thought warily. Using his maul, Queek pushed Belegar's shield down baring his fangs in enjoyment as he did. Queek's blade came slashing down, attempting to do what Dwarf-Gouger failed in accomplishing but Belegar's hammer intercepted the blow, leaving both foes locked staring hatefully at each other.

The stalemate ended when Belegar broke free, hoping to take advantage of such stalemate. He paid the price for such overconfidence, as Belegar swung Queek lept over him and lashed out with _Dwarf-Gouger_ carving red down the Dwarf King's spine.

Belegar grunted with annoyance, but that was all the acknowledgment the wound gained as he spun with surprising grace, and swung his own hammer at Queek. A shriek of surprise came from the Warlord as before he could gloat on gaining first blood, the King caught Queek by his shoulder putting a noticeable dent onto his crimson armor. And to the joy of Belegar, he unbalanced and fell to the ground.

Around him Belegar heard growls of dissent amongst the Skaven pack seemingly embarrassed that Queek fell so easily, clearly this didn't go unnoticed by the Headtaker as he soon as he was on his feet he turned on his warriors, roaring in his kind's foul tongue. Whatever left Queek's lips quickly quelled the crowd, and the Headtaker turned back to his foe. Despite not having any visible wounds, Queek seemed perturbed, perhaps an awareness that Belegar would not die quietly and quickly had been realised by the Warlord.

'Out of breath Queek?' Belegar taunted, as the two enemies circled one and other. Any early enthusiasm Queek had was now replaced with a predatory caution. This time it was Belegar who threw himself into the melee, blocking Queek's blade with his shield, Belegar swung upwards but _Dwarf-Gouger_ was there and directed the blow away from Queek's chin. Suddenly, Belegar thrusted his head forward and to his absolute delight felt something crunch in Queek's snout as a trickle of black blood cascaded down the King's face. Wiping away the blood from his forehead, Belegar charged forward hoping to end this once and for all.

Stumbling back in pain, Queek swung _Dwarf-Gouger_ blindly, catching Belegar's left arm. Pain burst through Belegar's arm as the savage maul sliced through his flesh with nightmarish ease, causing him to drop his shield. Queek, recovered from his panic, pressed the advantage, smashing his maul down Queek forced Belegar away from his shield, before kicking the Dwarven artifact to his warriors away from Belegar's grasp.

A bellow of rage left Belegar's lips, after watching another artifact depraved by Skaven claws and swung _The Ironhammer_ with reckless abandon. Queek likewise roared, and spun to meet Belegar's onslaught. The Skaven crowd watch in awe as the warrior-King and the bloodthirsty Warlord become a whirlwind of steel and red. Such combat hadn't been seen since the beginning of the Skaven race, when they were young and bold, and now to see such violence unfurl before their eyes awed the Skaven into uncharacteristic silence.

The pair broke away from each other, hatred palpable in the air, as they stared each other down for one final time. Belegar's left arm hung limply and while he still had strength in his right _The Ironhammer_ weighed upon him. Queek's armor now covered in many dents, his right eye was swollen and few of his fangs fell loose from his slobbering jaw. A tension filled the air as both warriors charged each other, an aura of destiny was felt by all those in the tunnel.

'For Karak Eight Peaks!' Belegar bellowed as he swung _The Ironhammer_ aiming to crush Queek's skull, but as he swung Queek's blade lashed out taking Belegar's left eye. Stumbling Belegar barely had time to react as he felt _Dwarf-Gouger_ pierce his neck. Defiant until his final moment Belegar Ironhammer's legacy ended as his head slipped loose from his shoulders.

Queek stomped over the body of his enemy, enraged by how difficult it was for the Dwarf to final keel over and die. _Still task-task done yes?_ Ikit grumbled into Queek's skull, Queek surveyed the battlefield as doubt settled in his stomach, the Throng was admittedly smaller than Queek thought. _Does it matter? We have King-skull_ Sleek snarled, Queek found himself agreeing with the voices, turning to his warriors Queek raised Dwarf-Gouger and Belegar's skull screeching victories to Clan Mors and to all of Skavendom.


End file.
